


You're Electric

by scrapbullet



Series: Short Circuit [2]
Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The first time he feels it, he overloads.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Electric

The first time he feels it, he overloads.

"It's perfectly natural," Castor coo's, and Ram struggles to overcome it, a lingering aftershock of something hot and volatile that courses through his system and leaves him shuddering, wanton and pliable. "Breathe."

"Oh _User_ , that--" Fingers blaze across a node on his chest and he moans, over sensitized, gasping _too much too soon glitchingglitchingglitching_ , "stop, _Castor_ , I-"

A huff. Castor looks smug, and when he brushes his lips against a blazing circuit on Ram's shoulder the pleasure is almost too much to bear. "Ah, you're so very naive. How darling. The music is an aphrodisiac. Did you enjoy yourself?"

Ram's circuits flicker violet. The erratic beat, once soothing, is now a vibration that has him gasping, tipping his head back to rest against the floor. "It's, oh. I can't, I need-"

"More?"

Castor's touch is firm, decisive. His palms rest on Ram's hips as their bodies align, legs parting to accommodate as sensitive circuiting collides, sliding, rubbing, an overwhelming build up of glorious pressure that has Ram keening and Castor pistoning his hips into the tight apex of his body. It is heat and desire and the overwhelming taste of energy on Castors mouth, the bite of his teeth, the grip of his hands on Ram’s hips. It builds and the music plays on, filling him up, over and over, until light bursts behind his eyelids and darkness follows, lost in the arc of sensation.

A nanocycle passes, and when Ram wakes it is to the sound of inexplicable longing.

A finger traces the lines of his face. It pauses, before drifting lower to press against his mouth. He parts his lips, savouring the acrid flavour of ozone, and flicks his tongue against the very tip of a gloved digit. "You have quite the tendency to offline,” Castor hums. There is satisfaction in the languid sprawl of his body, his thigh firm beneath Ram’s cheek.

Ram huffs out a laugh, and lets the music move through him.


End file.
